


To The Last Syllable

by alltoseek



Series: The Bridge [1]
Category: Aubrey-Maturin Series - Patrick O'Brian
Genre: Community: spook_me, Multi, Spook Me Multi-Fandom Halloween Ficathon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-26
Updated: 2014-10-26
Packaged: 2018-02-22 11:07:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2505575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alltoseek/pseuds/alltoseek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The full story of the incident at the bridge in Maiden Oscott.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To The Last Syllable

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to alcyone and feroxargentea for their assistance and advice :-)

Padeen did not like taking this route, Bridget knew. Bridget also knew why he didn't like it. For herself, she was not sure if she dreaded it, or preferred it.  


~o~o~  


The carriage was almost completely submerged; a wheel hovered above the rushing creek, spinning lazily. A horse screamed and thrashed, still caught in the traces. The other lay still, covered by the undulating blanket of water. Already a villager was hurrying down the side of the bank with a shotgun.  


Diana stood at the edge, by the side of the bridge, huddled into her own arms. As Colonel Cholmondeley finished aiding the older ladies to the top of the bank, she said, “Chum, I'm so very sorry about the horses, and your lovely machine.”  


Cholmondeley dismissed her concern with a wave of his hand. “All that matters is that we are all right.”  


Diana nodded, then said, “Are we?” in an oddly flat tone.  


The colonel frowned. “Of course.” He peered closely into her face: her blue eyes wide, nearly black, standing out from her pale face, almost dead white. Standing up straight, her figure trim in sopping-wet clothes, she looked more ethereal than ever: an angel on the verge of ascension. Then she shivered.  


“It's been a terrible shock,” he said. “Let us go inside the inn here and get warm. Find some dry clothes for all of you ladies,” he added, ushering them ahead. “We must get you dry or you'll catch your death.”  


Behind them came a loud shot, and the horse stopped screaming.  


~o~o~  


Ensconced by the fire in dry clothes, Mrs Williams found her voice. “Well! I never! So much for your vaunted powers of driving, Mrs Maturin – look what you have done!”  


Diana snapped back, “Do shut up, you horrid creature – it was your hallooing and screeching as we rounded the turn that naturally spooked the wheeler so that he started and we upset.”  


The colonel tried to calm the waters. “Never mind all that now; I will get us another carriage.” He stood and politely took his leave.  


The wait seemed interminable. Mrs Morris, against all rationality, took Mrs Williams' side and Diana was stretched to her limits from the horrible event, which had left her much distressed, and the mutterings and sniping from the older ladies. Finally she rose and went outside.  


Cholmondeley was there, standing about looking bewildered. “I'm sorry, my dear, I have had no success at all in obtaining any sort of vehicle for us.”  


“Never mind, dear Chummy. Perhaps I will have better luck.” Diana smiled at him. She looked up the road, and within a few minutes came a team driven by a grimy lad with spots: a stable-boy returning a carriage. Diana mustered up her most charming expression and waved him down. The boy stopped, gaping openly at her. She hopped up gracefully to sit beside him whilst Cholmondeley opened the door for the Mrs Williams and Mrs Morris. As the boy started up his team, he continued to steal glances at Diana – her face, her figure, her clothes. She laughed and told him to drive on and mind his horses. As they approached the bridge, desiring to impress this vision beside him, he turned too sharp and too smart, too distracted by darted glances at her bosom. For a long moment the carriage teetered above the low stone wall, before falling over.  


~o~o~  


“Oh dear, oh dear, what do we do now, Mr Cholmondeley?” asked Mrs Morris, wringing her hands, once they were back up on the bank. They had tried to bring up the poor stable lad; or at least the colonel had tried, with spirited assistance from Diana, but they had been unsuccessful. “That poor poor boy. I feel horrible.”  


“Yes, indeed, poor soul. Well,” said the gentleman, his suave urbanity banished at this second tragedy. “Well, I suppose we... Well, we must try again, of course. Surely someone must be able to drive us across.”  


“Yes,” sniffed Mrs Williams. “There must be someone around here who can drive a simple team of horses across a simple bridge.”  


Diana's eyes narrowed. “If that is meant as a reflection upon –”  


Mrs Morris hurried to break in, “It was most foolish of his master to entrust that idiot boy with his carriage. He was so obviously a simpleton. Mr Cholmondeley, you will be so good as to locate a carriage and team you could drive yourself, won't you? We have the utmost faith in your abilities.”  


“Of course, my dear madam, of course,” he replied, urbanity restored. “Allow me to order refreshment for us, and then I will turn to the matter immediately.”  


~o~o~  


The refreshments were consumed, and the wait again dragged on. Diana pointedly remained inside. At last Mrs Williams heaved herself out of her chair, saying, “It is clear that someone with natural authority must take control of this situation at once, or we will spend our entire existence in this God-forsaken hamlet.”  


~o~o~  


Mrs Williams' natural authority convinced a farmer, only slightly foxed, to stop for them; he watched doubtfully, listing a little himself, as all four clambered into his cart.  


Unfortunately her authority did not extend to the nature of the cart, which swayed unnaturally at the turn with their added weight, tipping them over again into the creek.  


~o~o~  
The repeated failures weighed heavily on the nerves of all the travellers, but most strongly upon Diana, who felt keenly that their predicament was her fault, despite her retorts to Mrs Williams; and upon Mrs Williams, who viewed all misfortune as bearing most heavily upon herself, in spite of the splendid fortitude with which she believed she bore it. Colonel Cholmondeley made it his concern to soothe Mrs Maturin's nerves; whilst Mrs Morris sought to distract Mrs Williams.  


~o~o~  


“Shall we take a turn,” said Mr Cholmondeley, offering his arm and inclining his head to indicate the chattering older women.

Pacing along the perimeter of the inn’s small but lush garden, Diana said, “Such a nuisance, Chum, all this. I am surprised you don’t round on me for the loss of your machine. Nine men in ten would not hesitate to damn my eyes.”

“Never could I damn such celestial eyes, my dear Mrs M,” he said gallantly, placing his left hand upon hers and squeezing her arm to his side. 

“Oh, well done,” she cried, laughing prettily. “And now you must declare you should like nothing better than to be stranded here with me.”

“I do so swear, dear lady,” he said warmly. “I could spend all eternity with you and never notice the time passing.”

~o~o~  


The foursome sat at a table in the inn's bay window, overlooking the road. Mrs Williams avidly watched various carriages go by, remarking on the status and probable morals of the inhabitants of each. Diana and Cholmondeley were half-heartedly flirting; or rather, Cholmondeley was making his most gallant attempts at flattery, whilst Diana alternated between quelling his pretensions and responding in kind. Mrs Morris, having heard many times already all of what the others had to say, was eavesdropping as much as she could on the other patrons of the inn.  


“Shhh!” hissed Mrs Morris. “The maidservant is telling the story to that odd-looking couple just next to us!”  


“...and now they says as how the bridge is haunted. If ever you see a lady asking for a lift, don't you never stop and pick her up! For then you be doomed for certain.”  


“What does the lady look like?” asked the man, in his carrying nasal pitch.  


“Well, I don't rightly know, not ever having seen her myself. Which I don't never want to, neither,” said the wench, crossing herself. “Some says as how she looks like an ordinary lady, just dressed a bit old-fashioned-like. Others say how she be pale and ghostly white, and sometimes there are more than one! The others try to linger out of sight, you see. But if you stop to pick up even one lady, soon you be covered in ghosts, and the carriage be overturned, and you be a goner then, no doubt. Nothing can help you once you've stopped, so don't you never stop for nobody round here.”  


The woman of the couple sniffed, and said in her equally nasal flat tone, “I thought these rural English towns were supposed to be hospitable places. Sounds terribly unfriendly to me.”  


The maidservant, taken aback, said in a sprightly voice, “Well, I'll just be back with your tea, then, shall I?” and turned on her heel and left.  


“Haunted! Ghostly ladies in white overturning carriages!” said Diana dismissively. “I don't believe a word of it. Such ridiculous stuff.”  


“Does sound more like a tale from the last century or two,” agreed Mr Cholmondeley. “I am surprised anyone would believe such a thing in these modern times.”  


“Those were colonists, you know,” said Mrs Morris. “They'll believe anything. Why, think of the crazy goings-on in their own country. Indians. Wolves. Black slaves! I don't but doubt the serving-girl was practicing upon them.”  


~o~o~  


Diana had no objection to gossip about passers-by, remarking upon their clothes, their figures, their manners. But she preferred the talk to at least aspire to wit. Mrs Williams' and Mrs Morris' sniffs and put-downs were trite, banal, sanctimonious, hypocritical, and unbearably tedious after five minutes. She left the inn for a brisk walk in the pleasant weather, Cholmondeley following right behind, as was his wont.  


She walked on in quiet, for once, and for once Cholmondeley took the hint, and turned quiet himself. She heard the sound of a familiar carriage, and down the hill came a pair of beasts from Woolcombe – showy, but graceless steppers. Stephen was driving, with an unfamiliar lady next to him. Diana called, and waved, but Stephen's attention was captured by the management of Aubrey's ill-mannered cattle and his conversation with the lady next to him, her slim figure turned towards him, her intelligent face with an affectionate smile looking into his. The carriage made the turn away from her easily, and swept over the bridge. Diana looked after them, still waving, and still smiling; for there was Brigid looking back, waving and smiling herself, through her tears.  


~o~o~  


“Ha!” said Mrs Williams, triumphant, “There's for you and your vaunted Maturin! Not a twelvemonth later, and he is already flaunting his new lady-love about the countryside. That'll teach you to drive gentlemen about in their own carriages, flirting with them so brazenly.”  


“What would it take to teach you not to ride in carriages with such brazen women, I wonder,” shot back Diana. “As for Maturin, do not think I am the least concerned about his driving anyone he pleases. I would not marry some namby-pamby bleating moon-calf of a man, afraid of looking in the wrong direction for fear of crossing his wife.”  


“Well, I never!” said Mrs Morris. “To be reproached for our generosity in offering you countenance! In my day ladies never spoke so rudely to their elders.”  


“Perhaps in your day elders set a better example in their own manners,” returned Diana.  


Mrs Williams refused to be drawn down that hole and heatedly leapt to her companion’s defence. “No lady of any manners would dream of leaving her poor idiot child in the care of a woman of no reputation whatever, to go gallivanting about the countryside with strange men.”  


“Why, you miserable harridan, I left my dear Brigid, who I might add is as far from being an idiot as you are from being intelligent, with a most learned, kind gentlewoman, and in any case,” raising her voice to bear down Mrs Williams’ spluttering reply, “far better no mother than one who torments her daughter incessantly, near wrecks her chances at marriage by her vulgar truckling after money –”  


At this Mrs Williams' indignation could no longer be contained: “That Captain Aubrey never was good enough for my Sophia, the philandering scoundrel!”  


“He is never a scoundrel!” responded Diana, her own ire sparked.  


“He got took enough in by them, which is much the same thing!”  


“As did you, you nasty old bitch! You lost your daughter's whole portion!”  


“You are a one to cast names, you mean little cat! At least I ain't a whore like some I could mention.”  


“Better a whore than a frigid old trout that ruins her daughter's marriage by insisting on living with them, spreading her venom even to the marriage bed -”  


“Indeed,” replied the outraged Mrs Williams, “what can you have to say about marriage? You who led your poor husband a merry chase as you went into keeping time and again, leaving him mooning after you for years and years.”

Mrs Maturin replied with a smirk and a lift of her brow, "Naturally."  


“Maturin's companion was a fetching thing, certainly,” interjected Mr Cholmondeley. “Although her long face rather brought to one's mind that of a horse. Yet those wide grey eyes gave her a striking beauty, and such a lovely figure...” he drifted off until Diana's stare brought him out of his reverie. “Oh, but not a candle to compare to you, my dearest Mrs Maturin; she is cast entirely in your shade.”  


~o~o~  


Out walking, the afternoon wearing on, the heat growing intolerable, “God will this day never end?”  


“Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperamental...” said Cholmondeley playfully.  


“Chums, my love, you are amusing enough company, but not a patch on my Maturin,” said Diana.  


Cholmondeley replied, “Yes, my sweet, I know; so you have told me many and many a time.”  


~o~o~  


“Very suitable, that Dr Maturin should look out for a reliable lady to help watch over his daughter. Not one that ups and leaves her as is convenient. Absolutely abandons her.”  


“That was not by choice! Your incessant nagging and niggling and haranguing – What will it take for you to keep your nose out of business that doesn't concern you!” at the last her voice rising to a screech, near wailing.  


~o~o~  


“Oh, Lord, did you see the look on their faces?!” Diana Maturin laughed, climbing up the bank.  


Mrs Williams sniffed. “It was their own fault, the fools. If they'd had the least notion of how to handle their horses they would never have been in such a predicament.”  


“Are you all right, Mrs Maturin?” asked Mr Cholmondeley, offering his hand for the final steps up to the road.  


“Yes, yes, of course. How you do go on, Chum,” said Diana, making the final scramble unassisted, all her boyish grace intact.  


“I must say, I do agree with Mrs Maturin,” said Mrs Morris. “What fun that was!” she said cheerfully, still huffing from the climb, and wiping her hands down her skirt.  


~o~o~  


Inside the inn the four of them were quiet, for once; each turned slightly away from the others, each lost in their own thoughts. The locals were gathered for the evening, and their conversation turned loud and argumentative.  


“Too many people are overturning at the bridge – it's always been a hazard, but the number of deaths has grown ridiculous!”  


“It's all the strangers about – folks come down from the north, over from Bath, or London. They don't know how the bridge is, and they just go too fast down that hill.”  


“It's not just strangers! Or not just that they don't know the bridge – anybody with any sense comes along the road nice and steady, and shouldn't have any trouble with the bridge. There ain't that much traffic on it.”  


“It's the ghost.”  


Murmurs of agreement. “Ghosts, that's right. There been too many deaths here, and now the bridge is haunted.”  


“Oh, sake's alive – do not be absurd! I have lived all my life right here in Maiden Oscott and I have never seen nor heard of any ghosts.”  


“That's right – 'tain't no such thing. We never had no hauntings nor anything like that round here. Not likely to start being haunted all of a sudden-like, is it? Tain't no such thing. Maybe up north or in foreign parts but not hereabouts.”  


~o~o~  


Why, you purposely upset us this time! We were almost across, and then you had to start up with your antics!  


Tosh! I was just playing. Perhaps I became a tad overexcited.  


Don't you want to get over this damned bridge?!  


Of course I do! Do you think I want to be stuck here with you for all eternity?  


~o~o~  


Patrick did not like taking this route, Brigid knew. She also knew why he didn't like it, but today she did not have her son with her, only her daughter, who was so quiet it was hard to know just what she liked, who looked out at everything with big pale eyes from an untroubled visage.  


The weather had turned cold and wet, but inside the inn the atmosphere was more oppressive by far. Diana waited at the roadside and saw a beautiful lady driving a spirited team with such grace and ease it made her envious. As it passed she waved to her little Brigid, there in the back, who waved solemnly back.  


**Author's Note:**

> for the [spook-me](http://spook-me.dreamwidth.org/) challenge, prompt: [ghost](http://i879.photobucket.com/albums/ab353/spook_me/Spook%20Me%20Anything%20Goes/mtg__ghost_quarter_by_one_vox-d4907n0_zpsb03a6820.jpg%20)


End file.
